Tale of Johnny Ray

Just as the Fazzones had made the trek to Ft. Dix NJ, to see their son and his best friend graduate Basic Combat Training, the Reeds made the trip to Ft. Benning GA to watch the same two young men graduate Infantry School.
As fascinating as it is to watch close quarters drill, batallion size movements can be equally impressive, with hundreds of men performing in unison after months of rigorous training.
Although Ron's stoic face betrayed little emotion, most likely consumed with what lay ahead of these fellows, Lore was absolutely beaming with pride.
Lore was well aware of what lay ahead as well, as any mother would be, but chose to enjoy the moment, and be as uplifting as possible for her son.

But in the back of both their minds was the nightly newscast by Walter Cronkite as he faithfully reported the body count in southeast asia.
It had become a nightly tradition of sorts across the land, with this being the first war to come into our living rooms each night.

The troops' travel orders had been passed out prior to the ceremony, and except for those with busses leaving right away, there was time for most to enjoy some well earned leisure.
Ant and Miner joined the Reed family at a picnic table in the shade at Lore's insistence.
"Why I swear you boys looked so good out there today. I am so proud of all of yall." Lore exclaimed. "Miner, why so glum? Something wrong?"
Obviously shy, Miner looked at the ground a moment before answering.
"I ain't going with my buddies maam. They ain't letting me go to Viet Nam. Going to Germany instead.
I reckon some folks would consider that a blessing, but I was all set and ready" he said.
Seeing the young man's obvious disappointment, Ron sought to console him.
"Don't take it too hard son. We need troops everywhere, and God might have bigger plans for you. I know you been a big help to the boys here.
Don't never know, something mighta rubbed off that could save them one day. You're going to be a good soldier.
That's what counts son. There' s too many out there not even willing to wear the uniform.
For whatever it's worth, I'm #### proud of you." Ron told him.
Having a family who was bitter over his exodus from the coal mines, this seemed to visibly affect Miner.
Ron rightly figured the boy needed some support, even if from outside his own family.

Having ascertained that none of the graduates were due to ship out before the next day, Ron announced dinner invitations to the group, who, after a consistent diet of mess hall food, enthusiastically accepted.
Pritchard's Fish Camp was a Columbus GA landmark, going back for decades.
Located out in the county, it was a nondescipt wooden structure with a dirt parking lot.
Lore's father, who had met a client there on legal business years ago, gave them the tip.
In addition to a central dining room, there were private dining rooms as well. Nothing fancy, mind you. Quite the opposite actually.
The rooms served as a haven for families to eat as if they were at home without observation, to be as messy and gluttonly as they chose.
One's appetite was the only limit as to the amount of catfish, slaw and hushpuppies one could consume here.
Everything was fresh, as local fishermen dropped by with their catch throughout the day for which Pritchard's paid cash.

"Looks like I finally get to pay back Ant for that that fine Italian food his momma fixed us up in Brooklyn" Johnny said as he forked some fried okra.
"Still ain't as good as momma's fried chicken though" he quipped as he cut his eyes at his mother, causing her to blush slightly.
As the sweet tea flowed and the bones piled up, Johnny knew this would forever be a good memory. Sometimes you just know.

Back outside, Ron leaned against the front fender of the old Ford Galaxie and enjoyed a cigarette with his arm around Lore, while the boys milled around discussing their future and making the usual promises of having a reunion one day.
Seemingly appearing from nowhere an old man approached Ron and extended his hand.
The old gent had a pronounced limp and was somewhat facially disfigured, notably a missing eye and deep scar that ran from the empty socket.
He also smelled strongly of alcohol, although his speech was clear and unslurring.
"Pardon my interrupting sir, obvious you with family. Won't trouble you none. My names Jake. Jake Fisher." he announced.
"Pleased to meet you Mr. Fisher" Ron said as he took the old man's hand. "My name is Ron Reed and this is my wife Loretta"
"It's an honor sir. Just have to ask, one of them fellas in uniform be your son?" Jake inquired.
"Why yes sir, the one on the right, and to be honest, I'd be proud to claim all three of them if I could" Ron answered.
"Looks like they green. On the way over yonder I reckon?" Jake asked.
"Yes sir, you'd be right. Two of them anyway." Ron replied "Why do you ask?"
The old man gave Ron a long gaze, from far away it seemed.
With a tremble in his voice, he simply said "May God bless 'em" as he walked away without another word.
As Ron finished his smoke, wondering what that was all about, a waitress on a shift change approched Ron and Lore.
"Old codger wasn't bothering yall was he? He gets drunk sometimes, well most of the time really." she asked.
"Oh, no maam. Seemed like a nice enough old fella" Ron told her.
"That's good, he don't mean no harm. You see, that's my uncle. He ain't near as old as he looks neither.
Had a bad time in world war two .Normandy, infantry. Shot six times and lord knows what all else he won't talk about.
Before his wife left him, she said he couldn't sleep without waking up screaming all hours of the night.
Fishes a lot, and won't take a dime for what he brings us. We always leave a bottle out by the back door for him anyway.
You probably can't understand, but it done him good just seeing them boys in uniform.
It ain't often he even speaks to anybody, much less takes their hand. Yall made his day, glad yall decided to come here today"

 

Thanks buddy, but I'm wondering if I haven't gotten in over my head.
Harder than it looks, but not giving up now.

 

You can still be a buddy LOL

 

My graduation photo from basic combat training.

 

Although troops usually traveled by MAC(Military airlift command) flights, through the luck of the draw Pvts. Fazzone and Reed rode a commercial flight into the airport in Saigon.
Having missed the shuttle bus, which left hours before, a jeep was dispatched to retrieve the young soldiers and transport them to the 90th Replacement Batallion.
As did most incoming enlisted personell, they would recieve ordersfrom there to their permanent unit.

Lonbinh was initially an out post on the edge of the jungle on the outskirts of Saigon, but was growing into a major installation.
Tents were being replaced with solid air conditioned structures, hot showers and flush toilets. There were recreation facilities and even a golf course.
It was the home of the 1st Aviation Brigade and two evacuation hospiltals.
The 18th MP Brigade(Tactical) provided security not only for the base, but provided armed escorts for convoys in the area hauling troops, supplies and ammunition to the outlying areas.
Also located there was the infamous stockade nicknamed LBJ (Long Binh Jail) with a not so affectionate aspersion to then president Lyndon Baines Johnson.

Specialist4 Ernie Camole met the arriving troops at the passenger pick up area in an unusually loud Willys jeep.
He refused to have the muffler replaced, claiming the noise alerted pedestrians to his presence, although there was no evidence to support the claim,
since the townfolks seemed oblivious to any and all vehicles. The moped riders were Evel Knievel inspired and the operators of the little three wheeled
contraptions were fearless in the face of the Army two and a half ton trucks.
Additionally, road signs were practically non existent and it was every man for himself where intersections were concerned.

"Well, well. Fresh meat from the world." Ernie announced as he parked the jeep and got out to greet the boys.
He first looked at Ant over his dark shades and asked, "Where you from troop? And it better not be New Jersey."
"Not hardly" replied Ant."Brooklyn NY"
"No joke. Well I'll be ######, where abouts?"
"Over in Brownsville"
"Well hell, I'm in Bed Sty. You know Camole's Bakery? That's my pop's. "
Then Ernie took a long hard look at Johnny, almost a look of recognition.
"Don't tell me you're from Georgia." he said.
"Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact I am. What gave me away?" Johnny asked.
"Boy, you could be Top's little brother. Hell, you could be his son. Must be a southern thing. Heard all you guys were related." Ernie said, then amended his statement.
"No offense man, just joking with you."
"Oh, I know" Johnny said " No offense taken"
"Well boys, let's saddle up. Get you a couple cots before chow time. Probably be tomorrow before you start inprocessing. Got a decent club or two close by.
Anything you want to do, be a good time to do it.
I got a feeling you two gonna be hooking up with the 25th and could be a long time in the boonies."

The ride through Saigon was a wild one, at least for the two newcomers.
"I thought Manhattan was bad, but these people are friggin nuts" Anthony exclaimed.
Ernie was cool as a cucumber behind his aviator glasses, bobbing and weaving through traffic and pedestrians seemingly never lifting off the gas, intersections and all.
"Keep your arms inside if you want to keep your watch" he warned.
Finally arriving at a quonset hut on base the new arrivals were grateful to exit the jeep and step foot on solid ground.
"That club don't sound like such a bad idea after all. Cold beer or three might just settle the nerves" Johnny joked.
While Johnny was extricating the duffel bags from the jeep, his back was to the other two momentarily.
Ernie took the opportunity to slip Anthony a fat joint. " Welcome to the Nam brother. You and Reb enjoy this with your beer tonight.
There's a few empty bunks in here. Just take your pick. The mess hall is the third hut up there on the right, tonights pizza I think.
Anyway, I'll come by here in the morning and get you guy's started. Maybe see ya at the club tonight."

 

The "bunks" Ernie spoke of were actually wooden framed canvas cots. The only additional cushioning would be provided by the soldiers' personal sleeping bag.
The area was bare and unadorned with any personal items usually found in living quarters.
This was merely a stopping off point. A place to lay one's head for a night or two enroute to their next (and final for many) assignment.
The oddest thing to the young soldiers were the footlockers, a throwback to another era.
The concave walls of the hut made placement of wall lockers impractical.
Additionally, should the need for an emergency evacuation to arise, they would be far easier to transport, if they bothered to take them, that is.

Reb and Ant's mere entry into the hut seemed to startle a pale, skinny, nervous fellow sitting on his cot.
He appeared to alternate between writing a letter and nervously glancing out the window.
Ant spoke to him as they walked by and the fellow only mumbled something undecipherable and looked away.

About that time a deep voice boomed from the rear of the hut. "Hey, yall huntin a couple cots? Got two empty ones down here next to mine"
As they approached, the man rose from his cot (all six feet, four inches of him) and extended his hand.
"Howdy. They call me House. Welcome to the Nam, but I reckon yall gettin tired of hearin that line"
"Good to meet you. They call me Reb and this here yankee fella is Ant"
"That don't make him no bad fella. I'm from Denton, Texas myself, right outside of Fort Worth. But we all in this here thing together, way I look at it.
I see Ernie didn't take you boys by the arms room to get your M-16s. Ain't surprising. He was in here smokin some wacky tabaccy right fore he left.
Bet he skeered hell out of yall in that #### jeep. Boy's crazy. Told me the faster he drove the less chance there was of getting shot. Might be so. Hell if I know.
Anyway, let's get over to the arms room and we can socialize later"
On the walk over, Reb asked House a question. "What's up with that dude back there? Seemed a might bit nervous"
That drew a big laugh from House. "That might be one way of putting it I reckon. Yall oughta seen him yesterday. Shakin like a pup poopin persimmon pits he was.
But I don't hold that against him. No sir, a fella can't help the way he is made. Only the good Lord has a sayso in that. Had an uncle tell me that one time, and I believe it.
Just think about it. Ever known anybody scared of heights, or scared of deep water? They can't help that anymore I can help how tall I am.
The army can send you to every school they got and it ain't gonna change what's inside of you.
I been around cattle all my life and I've seen some of them rodeo boys don't give it a seconds thought to mount some crazyass bull they know is gonna toss em right off and maybe a lot worse.
Does that me a coward cause I won't do it? Nah, I just ain't made that way."
"Bothers me they even sent him over here " Ant replied. "We had a boy at Ft. Dix nut up on the grenade range. Killed himself and another guy.
Almost got me and the drill sergeant too. But they claim if they start letting people out, more people will start faking being crazy"
"Aw hell, that was yall! I heard about that, sure did. I was in Bravo Company, right next door to yall. Small world ain't it.
Well this here's the place. Sarge will fix yall up with some shootin irons and I'll show yall where the mess hall is.
Then maybe we can get us a cold beer later on"